


fit to burst

by TheSpaceCoyote



Series: Kylux Omegaverse Week [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Kylo Ren, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodily Fluids, Body Worship, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Omega Armitage Hux, Porn with Feelings, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Pregnant Armitage Hux, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, technically but mostly irrelevant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 12:37:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19229293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Hux has been avoiding Ren for months now, dealing with the increasing urge to hide himself as his pregnancy progresses. But an unfortunate accident during a meeting they're both attending forces them to open up to one another—and perhaps reach a new, more mature stage in their relationship.





	fit to burst

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a drabble and quickly ran away from me. Part of me likes it and part of me doesn't? Ostensibly, this is for the "Outdated Traditions" prompt for the Omegaverse Week, though it ended up taking on a life of its own when the lactation kink came in...
> 
> Sorry, I don't think this is particularly in-character (kind of set in a post-tlj, but where Hux and Kylo might actually like each other and work together) and probably way too soft! But it is what it is. If you still think you might be able to enjoy it, then read on.

Hux often finds himself wondering how it had all come to this.

Physically, it’s obvious, and not something he needs to spend all cycle trying to unravel. The facts of the matter were that he’d been foolish enough to allow Ren into his bed during one of his pseudo-heats, the brief flashes of sweaty desperation that hound him despite religious use of the most potent suppressants the Order can afford. Even taking that into account, he _should_ have been fine, if not for the fact that in his fever he’d asked Ren to forgo a condom, confident in his delirium the lack of a real heat would protect him from any unfortunate side effects.

Hux glances down, pressing his lips into a thin line at how his belly juts out from the rest of his body, pushing his belt high up on his torso.

That had failed miserably, and now he is paying for his arrogance.

Facing the viewport and deep in thought, Hux allows himself to touch his belly, something he doesn’t like to do in front of his bridge officers because the movement of his hand only draws attention to it. He doesn’t appreciate even the less reserved and more earnest of his men fawning over his pregnant middle, preferring to keep his greatcoat slung about his frame to hide it. Unfortunately, his body temperature had risen lately, rendering the heavy gaberwool inhospitable even with the cool air cycling through the ship.

So Hux has to deal with his belly sitting in full view of his subordinates, which leaves him feeling more than a little exposed and uncomfortable. The hand cupping his middle, gently rubbing over where he’d last felt the pup kick at her ever-shrinking prison, provides him with a little bit of comfort, but not enough to get him to relax his stiff shoulders and smarting posture. Hux scowls. His parade rest has suffered woefully in the past few weeks, with the ever-growing weight causing his spine to curve forward and throw him just off-balance enough to be frustrating.

It should never have come to this, and yet now Hux has no other option but to see it through to the end.

The baby is only one of his many troubles as of late, though with the pregnancy influencing each aspect of his life, Hux finds that if he follows his frustrations to their tail-end he almost always finds them tied up with the ever-impending threat of their birth. Laying in wait, a timed bomb in his belly, ready to upset all his carefully laid plans and dredge up old insecurities from far back—too far back to be resurfacing now, yet here they are.

Though he has only vague memories of his life on Arkanis, a couple things have stuck with him. Endless rain still haunts his dreams, pattering against his peace of mind until it forced him to wake. But he remembers more than just that—specifics, customs and habits of the handful of people he knew as a boy that helped flesh out his vision of the world, and the roles each of the three endotypes took within it.

He knows especially that by continuing to work with such strict diligence, he’s affronting a good tidy few of those Arkanisian customs. Omegas from his home planet were usually demure, almost somber in their demeanor, as if they were constantly serving penance for the toll they took on their alphas. During pregnancy, they were expected to keep to themselves, with only their medic and occasionally their alphas taking care of the more unpleasant side effects. They were to discontinue all work they were allowed and required to commit all other energy towards either the pregnancy or meaningless hobbies such as weaving and reading light, inoffensive holobooks. They could go out in public if shielded from the rain—so the baby wouldn’t catch cold—and accompanied by their alpha, but otherwise were expected to stay in their nest, relegated to merely watching the dismal world from the windows.

And though Hux hadn’t presented as an omega until long after he and his father had left Arkanis, the notion stuck with him. Pregnancy is something _private_ , not meant to be flaunted about with whorish candor.

And though Hux has never been one to accept cowardice from himself, as of late he has struggled to fight his instinct to hide in his quarters. He knows that having a child is an embarrassment for a man of his rank, especially considering he’s unwed and un-bonded, but at this point there’s little more to be done about it if he wants to continue serving the Order. In the beginning he could hide his changing physique with an extra padded layer beneath his uniform, but now that his belly rounds out so obviously he has no choice but to field the inevitable stares and quiet whispers often volleyed in his direction whenever he commands the bridge or rises to speak during a meeting of High Command.

Hux still worries he might receive a sterner reprimand for his carelessness, or be ordered to take medical leave, or be forced to report the baby’s paternity. _That_ would be the worst-case scenario out of all of them—though he assumes most people would be able to determine who the baby’s father is, considering how much time he and Ren spent together, even in public—having it indelibly written on his and his child’s record is something else entirely.

Though, honestly, he and Ren had grown a little bit distant since the start of his second trimester, when he’d started to show more prominently. Part of that, Hux knows, was his own fault. He’d spent most of the past few months both unconsciously and consciously avoiding Ren, limiting their time outside of professional duties to only a couple superficial discussions about the baby and the occasional fuck when Hux’s hormones drove him so crazy his hands and toys couldn’t satisfy. But even those had tapered off lately, that same uneasiness now also seeping into the meetings they held to discuss matters important to the Order and Ren’s expanding power. Before when Hux had stood to present his thoughts on the matter, he’d always felt eager to lay out his points and proud to propose a solution. Now, whenever he needed to speak on anything, even something as trivial as complaints over food rations, he felt only the urge to shrink down and hide his growing belly from everyone’s eyes—including Ren’s.

But it couldn’t be helped. Today, Hux’s presence is expected at a gathering of High Command regarding the changeover from human soldiers to mechanized troops, and though Hux felt the familiar tug of anxiety near the pit of his swollen abdomen he couldn’t let it stop him. He refused to cow to such silly impulses—he was the top general, the _kriffing_ second-in-command to the Supreme Leader himself. He couldn’t give in to his weaker instincts and hide in his room like a scared animal.

The commlink on his belt chirps, reminding Hux he should head off, so he turns away from the panorama of transparisteel, leaving a couple commands in his wake as he exits the bridge. The designated meeting room wasn’t far, and even with his cumbersome pace he made it there in good time.

The edge of the glossy, black conference table comes up to Hux’s ribs when he takes his seat at the right of Ren’s throne-like chair, thankfully. He feels much better about himself when there’s an object or piece of furniture he can use to conceal his belly, though there’s not a person aboard the ship who _hasn’t_ heard that Armitage Hux is pregnant; especially not amongst the other commanding generals. But, like dogs and young children, sometimes removing the offending visual can persuade less-intuitive alphas to forget it exists.

Alas, his pregnant scent is another matter entirely, and not one he can hide with ease, but gratefully Ren’s overpowering, apex aroma smothers Hux’s up when he sweeps into the room and takes his place at the head of the meeting table. Hux had hoped that would help him relax but unfortunately he stiffens at the Supreme Leader’s presence, knowing that even keeping his belly hidden beneath the table won’t stop Ren from seeing it. The alpha scans his eyes over the table, as if assessing each gathered general in his mind, before finally lingering on Hux a little too long. Discomfort slithers up Hux’s spine at the touch of—imagined or otherwise, he can’t determine—indistinct fingers, wending with a sense of longing before vanishing completely as Ren sits with a heavy sound and leans back in his chair.

“Let’s get on with this,” he says gruffly, stroking his fingers against the leather armrests in agitation. For a brief moment, Hux wonders if Ren’s irritated because of him, but then the first general rises to begin his presentation. The dark expanse of the table illuminates in a scatter of bright lights before projecting a hologram detailing the schematics of the latest mechanized battalion prototype into the air. Hux leans in, trying not to look at Ren and instead pay attention to the proposal.

Unfortunately, before long his baby decides to follow her own plan.

Halfway through the second general’s rebuttal, disparaging whether mechanized troops could be produced quickly enough to replace their existing forces, she starts to shift inside of him, deciding his diaphragm is a far more comfortable place to lie than his bladder. And while Hux appreciates the relief of pressure on his groin, the new placement of her head butting up against the underside of his lungs forces him to blink slowly and take a couple shallow breaths. Moving gradually, as to not draw undue attention upon himself, Hux leans away from the edge of the table and reclines further into his chair, trying to align his body and free up more space inside him.

When it’s finally time for Hux to speak, his daughter has settled down a bit, but now the muscles in his back ache from the change in position. Still, he pushes himself up to his feet, clandestinely placing a hand on his lower back so he doesn’t look too unwieldy. He’s not sure the impression comes across to the other generals or the Supreme Leader, but he feels far better when he’s standing up, even with his belly on full display.

“Thank you for your input, General Creed. But as you can see,” Hux starts, summoning his own hologram—the three-dimensional layout of a large, planetside facility—above the table, “even our first, and at the moment sole manufacturing plant is capable of creating autonomous troopers at an already impressive rate of three-dozen units per hour.” He pressed his lips into a smug smile, gazing across the table at the general who had spoken before him. “A fast enough turnover, don’t you think? And if we construct more facilities, we will only increase our output while tasking our displaced, organic forces with upkeep and maintenance.”

The general in question has the decency to look a bit sheepish at Hux’s lecture, though there’s a couple around the table who still glance at him with a hint of skepticism, which is fine. He still has much more to present regarding his proposal, plenty of time to sway any doubts over to his side. As the chief coordinator of the stormtrooper program, as well as the Order’s preeminent engineer prior to his promotion within the enlisted ranks, Hux considered his own opinion the most valuable when it came to the matter at hand. Those present shouldn’t just defer to him because he was the Supreme Leader’s right hand. He knew what he was doing.

Hux tries to resist touching his belly while he speaks, even as his daughter continues to squirm, missing her usual attention. Though he dislikes denying her, the last thing he wants is to look _maternal_ in front of his peers. It’s already difficult enough with his burgeoning belly to feel like the competent general he once was, so he keeps the hand not gesticulating at the hologram resolutely tucked behind his back as he moves on to discuss the increased efficacy of mechanized troops. Really, as much as he had adhered to the trooper program in the past, lately he’d thrown all his weight in favor of transitioning at least the front line infantry over. Too often in his dreams did Hux see the lovely green eyes he hoped his little girl would have, staring flat and glassy up at him from within the cracked, bloodied visage of a trooper’s helmet.

Hux continues to speak even as he feels a strange pressure start to build inside of him, writing it off as either an unusual bout of nervousness, or the urge to use the refresher. The former was unwelcome but could be dealt with, the latter would have to wait until the meeting finished. _Honestly_ , sometimes Hux wished he didn’t have a human body, if it would mean not having to deal with all these nagging impulses. Perhaps he should look into mechanizing _himself_ , not only his troops. In the interim, he’ll just have to press onwards.  

Unfortunately, this time his perseverance, even in the face of discomfort, proves to be his undoing.

It wasn’t as if Hux didn’t understand the full extent of the side effects of pregnancy. He’d listened diligently to his medic, even done his own research on the side, though he doubted the veracity of some of the more spiritualist claims about “centering his maternal energy” and how medicinal wort from Zakuul would heal his stretch marks. He wasn’t like Ren, who might believe in such nonsense, but he _did_ understand how his body would develop physically as the weeks passed.

He just never thought something like this would happen during a meeting of his peers, while he was standing up full exposed and presenting his side of the debate.

Hux’s chest had developed in the recent months, though honestly not into anything spectacular, which he considered a bit of a blessing. It was trying enough to deal with the increasing size of his waistband without also having to deal with an abundant bosom at the same time. But lately his budding breasts had swelled even bigger, leaving unsightly red veins along the sides and rendering his nipples fat and tender. He’d tried to layer more padding under his uniform to hide his chest better, but that only amplified the pressure and friction and made him feel like a rain-swollen damn about to burst.

And, at the sudden rush of wetness and relief in his aching chest, Hux looks down to find that to his horror, he finally had.

Maybe if he hadn’t gasped, he could’ve gotten away with it, considering most of the generals have their attention fixed upon the hologram. But he _does_ gasp at the sudden surge of sensation beading at the tips of his tender breasts, and now every member of High Command as well as the Supreme Leader is staring at his shocked expression and the two damp patches soaking through the chest of his uniform. For a moment, Hux can do nothing more than stand stock still, arms frozen out to the side, in the middle of one of the dramatic gestures he likes to punctuate his speech with. Then he hears a muffled snort.

 _Oh, stars_. Humiliation blooms up inside Hux, turning his face bright red. The other generals shift, looking at one another with barely contained smirks. To his left the legs of the Supreme Leader’s chair screech against the floor, and out of the corner of his eye Hux can see Ren start to rise, hand lifting in his direction. The touch from earlier returns, questioning along the front of his belly, but Hux rears away from it, nearly knocking over his own chair.

 _No no no no hide hide hide hide hide_ his instincts scream at him, building to a fever pitch until he can’t take it any more and wraps his arms around his chest, shoulders hunched with shame and face glowing red as he flees the meeting room into the hallway. Hux dry sobs through his clenched teeth, boots slamming so hard against the floor that his ankles smart. He tries to ignore it, push through the pain, desperate to reach his quarters so he could hide himself from cruel, judgemental eyes.

Hux is out of breath by the time he finally reaches his door, shakily pressing his key cylinder to the access pad as he tries to reign his body back under his control. The growing baby pressed up against all of his internal organs, squashing them as her domain expanded and rendering him weaker than he would be normally. He hasn’t run like that since Starkiller, and though embarrassment in front of High Command isn’t nearly as dire as an imploding, planet-sized super-weapon, Hux shakes with anxiety and despair all the same.

He stumbles through the door when it opens, hands cradling his belly, wanting nothing more than to strip off his clothes and wash away all evidence of his little _accident_. He waddles over to the bedroom in a huff, frustrated with his sluggish gait. He wishes for a nice hot shower, but lately it’s hard to stand on the slippery floor for too long, and he’s not in the mood to wait and draw a bath—especially if it meant marinating in the disgusting discharge leaking through his clothes.

Once safely within his bedroom Hux throws his uniform jacket on the floor instead of hanging it up neatly in the wardrobe or draping it on the laundry hamper as he usually does. As he strips more layers the stains on his chest grow larger and wetter, and by the time he gets down to his undershirt he’s so ashamed by his sopping wet breasts that he has to look away from them and swallow around the rock in his throat.

He truly is grotesque. Between the rounded peaks of his breasts he can see his belly swelling outwards, like an overgrown moon cresting over an alien landscape.

It makes sense for him to hide his misshapen form and all its unfortunate functions. Hux hates the very idea of medical leave outside of truly critical injuries, but he’s tempted to put in his request to the Supreme Leader right this moment, and spend the rest of these last few months gestating in bed until he’s presentable enough to serve the Order once more.

Of course—speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Just as Hux pulls his undershirt up over his head, peeling the last layer of wet fabric away from his chest, a presence brushes up against his mind. He freezes. The presence doesn’t try to push inside his mind, violate it, but lingers just outside the reinforced walls inside him.

Hux snarls at it, swatting at the invisible touch with the damp top balled up in his fist.

_Go away!_

For a moment, Hux thinks it may have worked, as the presence retreats. But not a second later, it returns, more plaintively, trying to well up sympathetic emotions in Hux’s chest. He scowls, glaring at his bedroom door, almost able to imagine how Ren must look outside his quarters. A dog put out in the cold, desperate to be let in.

But Hux knows that even if he continues to refuse, Ren could let himself in anyway. He’d placed himself as Hux’s medical contact when they’d first discovered the pup, and now had access to his quarters. Even if Hux decides to remove his permissions, there’s always that damned Force. So really, like most things lately, Hux feels like he has little choice in the matter.

 _Fine_ , he thinks bitterly as he relents, hoping it stings a little bit. Working his milk-sodden undershirt anxiously in his hands, Hux sits heavily on the bed, his belly spilling over into his lap and his swollen breasts resting on top of that. All he wore was his uniform pants, his boots removed to relieve his throbbing ankles. Even the black compression socks he wore didn’t help stave off the pain for long, not when he still spent so much of the cycle on his feet. Hux picks at an errant piece of hair when he hears the outer door to his quarters slide open with a muffled chime, smoothing it back against his scalp.

It pops out over his forehead a moment later. Hux sighs in irritation. He must look awful, like a corpulent officer twice his age. Exhausted and ruddy-cheeked, after only minimal exertion. _Shameful_.

What a sight for the Supreme Leader to witness. And yet Hux doesn’t lift a finger to conceal himself when Ren inches into the room, having given up on respectability for the day.

At least Ren has seen him naked before, though he can’t imagine he appreciates all the drastic changes his poor body has gone through.

Ren takes two steps towards him, before halting. He’d barged into Hux’s quarters but now he looked like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing here in the first place. His mouth opens and closes a couple times, thinking and rethinking what he wants to tell Hux. The general feels a similar sort of anxiety gnawing at his chest, uncomfortable with the uneasiness in the room where there would’ve been relief and need before. Before the swollen weight in his belly complicated everything.

They both start to speak at once, stumbling over each other.

“Ren, I—”

“Hux, don’t—”

The general holds up a hand, wanting to say his piece first. Ren closes his mouth, affronted and almost ready to challenge him, but after a moment of pursed lips he lets Hux continue.

“I want to apologize for disrupting the meeting earlier.” Discussing the incident at all stings hot with embarrassment, but Hux presses forward. “My conduct was unprofessional and unacceptable. I can only hope the other members of High Command will be prepared to reschedule with you to discuss the matter of trooper hybridization undisturbed.”

Hux almost never apologizes, especially not to Ren. Usually, he never commits the kind of errors that would require one. But perhaps if he cuts Ren’s anger off at the head, he’ll be more willing to leave Hux alone to wallow.

In the background of the tense quiet, the automatic ventilation system detects a spike in temperature and kicks in, rippling along the rumpled sheets on Hux’s bed and skirting over his exposed chest. Hux gulps as minutely as he can, nipples stiffening in the sudden cold. Ren looks at him, searching with a long, dark stare. Momentarily, his eyes fall to Hux’s chest, his cheeks dusting with pink before he looks back up at him with a sigh.    

“That was...Hux, you didn’t do it on purpose. It’s just natural,” Ren finally says. Hux frowns at him.

 _Natural?_ Well, yes, Hux can’t deny that. But what did it change? The most base, most disgusting bodily functions are “natural,” that didn’t mean they have any kind of place in a dignified meeting regarding the future of the Order’s military.

“I’m not sure I see your point, Supreme Leader.”

“ _Kylo_ ,” he says, finally sitting down on the bed beside the general with a hearty _thump_. “Call me Kylo. I think I’ve earned that, considering you carry my pup in your belly.” He nods at the rounded bump, teeth worrying behind his sealed lips.

The declaration of ownership has Hux prickling—mostly with annoyance, though a bit of satisfaction creeps in unwelcome. They had been apart for so long, afraid to touch one another, that Hux nearly forgot just how possessive Ren can be, and how much he likes it though he knows he shouldn’t.

But Hux almost feels like it’s too little, too late. He doesn’t want Kylo forcing familiarity after all these lonely month, especially when he’s started to doubt the alpha’s ability to follow through. If Hux barely had time for a child as a mere general then the Supreme Leader himself certainly didn’t. That’s partially the reason Hux had withdrawn, too afraid to get invested in the idea of Kylo as a devoted father—part of him worried it would only ever be a misplaced fantasy.

“ _Kylo_ ,” Hux resumes, mouth unused to the name, “while it may be _natural_ for my body to have such reactions, it doesn’t change the fact that allowing it to happen while I was carrying out my duty was unbecoming and unacceptable for a man of my rank.”

All told, if this is going to become a regular occurrence, then Hux needs to do something about it. Wear thicker shirts, or find ways to relieve the issue himself. He wrinkles his nose at the thought. The prospect of _milking_ himself is a disgusting one, even with the assistance of a pump, but he’d rather put up with that than risk further humiliation as he struggled to do his job properly.

“Next time, I swear I will have the sense to cloister myself away, to avoid embarrassing the Order like that again,” Hux finishes, not without a tinge of bitterness.

As he absorbs his words, Ren makes a soft, upset noise in his throat as reaches out, fingers almost brush up against the general’s hand. Hux jerks it away, nervously rubbing his wrist as he stares at the wall. Even that is far too much intimacy for his current level of comfort. After months of distance, the air between them is uneasy, as if they both have to remember how to act around one another when there’s nobody else around and no pretense of professional duties to restrain them.

“I’ve missed you…” Ren mutters, following Hux’s hand with his like he wants to lace them together, only to curl his fingers shyly back against his palm when Hux scoots away. “I thought I was doing the right thing by leaving you to your own devices. Your mind was so guarded, distrustful, suspicious of everyone’s intentions towards you and the pup. But you’ve been suffering.”

Hux flinches. Moist heat builds in his eyes and he looks down at his stomach, blinking rapidly. Kylo, he—even if he sensed his emotions, Kylo has no _idea_ what it’s been like.

“I’ve been doing _fine_ ,” Hux ekes out. He curls his fingers tighter around his wrist, trying to reign in his emotions. He’d already fled the conference room like a hysterical little ninny, he didn’t need to humiliate himself in front of the Supreme Leader twice in one cycle.

A part of Hux hopes that if he refuses to look at Ren for long enough, he’ll get bored and decide to leave. But suddenly the weight on the bed beside him shifts. Hux half turns towards the alpha, only to find Kylo leaning in, closing the space he had tried to put between them with his arm outstretched.

“What are you doing?” Hux whispers hastily, watching Kylo’s hand as it comes to rest atop the curve of his belly. He froze—Ren hadn’t touched him there in months, not since the first ultrasound. Hux remembers mostly unpleasant things from the appointment, like the cold of the gel on his skin and he clinical smell of the private room and how he hated to expose his vulnerable belly to a tactless droid of all things, there had been one thing to keep him from tossing his clothes back on and storming out—the gentle, fond glimmer of gold in Ren’s dark eyes, reflected with the glowing monitor and image of _their_ baby.

Now, as Hux looks up, he sees that same fondness swimming in his lover’s contemplating expression.

“On Chandrila,” Kylo finally murmurs after a moment of long thought, speaking the name of his home planet aloud for the first time in years, “omegas were never told to hide themselves from the public eye, much less their mates and families. Pregnancy was never considered something to be ashamed of.”

Hux snorts. “Perhaps for mated and bonded omegas.”

“For _all_ omegas,” Kylo emphasizes, making Hux close his mouth. His hand drifts over Hux’s belly, fingers feeling the warmth of the stretched skin on his palm.  “Regardless of bond or marital status. Those native to the planet believed that pregnancy is a blessing best appreciated when shared with others.”

That concept is utterly foreign to Hux. For him, pregnancy has been nothing but an embarrassment so far, as he quickly grew too fat and ungainly for his prized uniform, as he dealt with brain fog and throbbing ankles throwing off his usual sharp ability to command. He’d endured morning sickness and nearly pissing his pants and now _this_ , and Ren wants him to _share_ that with others?

Hux thinks he would rather share a steam room with a bantha.

“I think we can both agree that I shared far more than I would’ve liked in the meeting today,” Hux spits, the memory still fresh and tender. “What do you want from me? Do you wish for me to parade my swollen bosom about like I’m forced to do my belly?”

“Listen,” Ren started, after a bracing pause, “I know how things were on Arkanis—”

“Have you been _spying_ on me?” Hux hisses, suddenly remembering he was dealing with a damned mind reader and not a mere mortal. Instantly he tries shoring up his mental walls, buttressing them with defensive thorns and pushing his memories of Arkanis and what they did with omegas there as far back in his skull as he could muster—but Kylo’s hand rises from his belly to touch his chest, choosing to strike him in the vulnerable gap there rather than through his mind. Hux’s heart accelerates under his palm. _Damn him_. It’s working.

“It doesn’t take much research to figure out how omegas were treated on your home planet. There are still basic records of Arkanisian history and culture that remain, even after the siege.”

“You could’ve just come to me personally, if you were so interested in exposing my background.”

“Would you have told me, had I asked?”

Hux knows he wouldn’t have. His shame would’ve never allowed it. He looks off to the side, trying to appear disinterested, but Ren presses onwards regardless.

“It’s not always like that. Omegas aren’t treated like that way everywhere. On Chandrila—” Hux scowls and moves to push him away, cheeks tipped in anger.

“Oh, I don’t want to hear any more about _pfaasking_ Chandrila, Ren—”

“Hux, there you would be _worshipped_ ,” Kylo interrupts sharply, taking Hux’s raised hand in his and pulling him in close. “You would be draped in elegant clothes and jewelry and paraded about by your family.” He looks down at the general’s wrist, as if already envisioning the finery he could hang there. “I would spend hours painting your belly with inscriptions of my love, my hopes for our heir. The baby would be welcomed into love and prosperity, a crown of flowers placed upon their head after the cord was cut. Blueblossoms for girls, everlilies for boys.” Kylo’s voice resonates with fondness, damp and choked.

For a moment, Hux can see it, a rosy-pink newborn cradled in his arms, against a chest covered in woven white, surrounded by imagined friends and family. But it’s fleeting, the sour upset surging back to pave over it.

“I don’t deserve that.” It’s true, no matter what Ren says, no matter how he tries to ply Hux with gentle conviction. A lump rises up in his throat and he tries to swallow around it, but it wouldn’t go down.

“Hux…”

“I don’t need your pity,” Hux snaps but can’t muster much venom, his voice crumbling miserably back into his chest. “I’ve been surviving well enough on my own without it.”

It’s a lie he didn’t expect Ren to believe, but perhaps the man would feel enough decency to leave Hux alone to wallow and give up on this futile attempt to lift his spirits. But Ren never listened to reason, or him, or anybody.

“Maybe not my pity...but you need _me_ ,” Kylo other hand rests on Hux’s shoulder, making the omega look at him. “I’ve been staying away from you because that’s what I thought you wanted, but no more.”

Hux’s heart throbs, a mix of emotions rushing through him. Frustration, that Kylo wouldn’t let him be. Shame, at his own vulnerability and inability to push this difficult, _destructive_ presence away from him. And underneath it all, the unmistakably twinge of _longing_ to be with his lover as they once were.

Kylo whines once before finally giving and pressing their lips together, hand curling tighter around Hux’s wrist as he nudges him towards the middle of the bed. Hux shifts, keeping their lips locked as he navigates his swollen body backwards.

Once Hux’s toes leave the ground Kylo sits up on his knees, carefully guiding him down on his back amidst the plump pillows Hux has gathered to help him sleep. The change in position puts a bit of extra pressure on his pelvis, body accustomed to lying on its side as of late, but Hux doesn’t protest as Ren crawls atop him on all fours, looming like a destroyer over the waxing surface of a pallid moon.

His cloak fell around Hux, as if it could form a protective shield around him, as if that was something Ren could do for him, as if Hux _wanted_ that. It hides Hux’s half-naked form from everything but Ren’s eyes, glimmering with deep desire as they rove over him.

“When you’re like this,” he whispers, “I want to eat you from the inside out.”

A gloved hand finds one of Hux’s breasts. His toes curl as Ren gives it a testing squeeze, cheeks heating with embarrassment. His fingers twitch with the desire to push Ren off of him, though with his bulk and Hux’s cumbersome size, he probably couldn’t even manage. So he just lies there, helpless, with bated breath as Ren leans down towards his chest.  

Hux whimpers as Ren’s lips seal around his right nipple, hand flying to his mouth to smother the needy sound. He tenses, trying to hold back as Ren hollows his cheeks and _sucks_ , but can’t. A moment later, much to his horror, milk gushes from his breast into Ren’s waiting mouth. Hux almost expects him to gag—he certainly would, if he was forced to drink such a strange concoction—but Ren dutifully swallows it down, a low moan rumbling out of his throat. The vibrations in his voice only stimulate Hux further, his nipple leaking even more milk against Ren’s tongue.

Gloved fingertips cradle the underside of his breast as Ren continues to nurse, lightly massaging more milk out of him and flooding more pleasure through Hux’s body. Never did he think it could feel so _good_ , to have his inconstant lover and the sire to his child nurse so greedily, as if liquid gold flowed from his chest.

Hux wants Ren to stop. It’s _humiliating_ and completely improper. Much as he hated producing milk, he at least knew it would be necessary to feed his daughter. But this? This is _obscene_.

Hux tilts his head back and keens a proper omega’s keen, voice threaded with need for his not-quite mate. His breasts have been swollen for so long, and he hates that it feels good to have Ren suckling on them, relieving them of the pressure of milk. His tongue and mouth are so warm, so hungry, it makes Hux want to do nothing more than lie here the rest of the cycle and let Ren feed.

Hux squeezes his thighs together, suddenly wanting to get some pressure on his cock but unable to let go of Ren’s hair as he moves from one breast to the other. This time, Kylo teases the tip, tongue caressing the underside of the rosy bud until fresh milk drips into his mouth. Hux tightens his grip in Kylo’s hair, winding his fingers in the curls as he arcs his chest up into his mouth. Kylo responds to his enthusiasm immediately, opening his mouth wider and taking more of Hux’s breast in his mouth, completely covering the entirety of the swollen areola in slick warmth. Hux can feel the Kylo's cock, hard through his pants, rutting up against the swell of his belly. 

Hux climaxes unexpectedly not long after, far quicker than usual even with his hair-trigger pregnancy libido. Cum soaks into his briefs as his cock jumps, joining the damp pool of slick between his thighs. He pants, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. He moans quietly as Kylo continues rut his cock and suck Hux’s tit to the point of overstimulation, and just when he feels too uncomfortable to endure it any longer Kylo pulls away with a unfurling groan as he grinds one final time against his mate's pregnant swell. The last dregs of fluid from Hux’s breast dribble down towards his trembling ribs, left to dry against his skin. Both nipples tingle, bright red and wet from the alpha’s mouth.

“Do you believe me now?” Kylo lifts his eyes up to Hux’s, tongue peeking out to lick the last droplet of golden milk from his lips. “That you don’t need to hide from me, or anyone else?

Hux breathes heavily, trying to recover enough to speak. His chest tingles with each rise and fall, breasts made tender by the drag and squeeze of Kylo’s lips and tongue. Flushed and embarrassed as he is, he can’t stop the moisture in his eyes from breaking, streaking light tears over his cheek.

“You...fool,” Hux scrubs furiously at his face, cursing how vulnerable to emotions the pregnancy had made him, “you think getting me off, or telling me about some silly paradise where omegas are king, will make me feel better about my current situation?”

“Does it hurt?” Kylo grabs tissue from the nightstand to clean them both up. He tosses it aside once finished and helps Hux sit up better against the headboard, steadying him with a careful palm to the belly.

Hux sniffles, making a face somewhere between a smile and a glower, and ends up looking like he’d smelled something unpleasant.

“I’m not sure the rest of my crew will share your enthusiasm for worshipping me, especially following today’s spectacle.” Hux rubs the butt of his palm against his cheek, clearing away the last of the tears. He knows how fast rumors flew despite the severe punishment he could dole out for such slander.

“Think I could probably get some of your beta toadies onboard,” Kylo says, sitting beside him. “And you know if I ever catch anyone disrespecting you, they’ll face the tip of my blade as punishment.”

Hux shakes his head, letting out a watery sigh.

“I can’t just have you going about beheading all my problems with that unstable laser sword of yours. If you did, I’d hardly have any troops left.”

“ _Mmm._ But maybe a little threatening is in order.” Kylo rests his shoulder against the headboard, rubbing Hux’s belly in contemplation. “I’ve been so busy running things, I haven’t had the time. Perhaps I’ll start with Pryde. He was the one who laughed.”

Naturally, Hux thinks. Pryde hadn’t even liked his father. Of course he'd bear no respect for his progeny, omega or not. 

“Alright, perhaps _one_ beheading won’t hurt.”

With the promise of a satisfying execution brewing in both of their minds they strip off their soiled clothes and fall into a contented hush, holding onto one another. Kylo curls around Hux and rests his head against his chest, dark hair fanning out against his sunrise-pink skin. Hux can’t resisting stroking through the wavy locks, gently working out the tangles before resting his arm over the alpha’s back in a gentle hug. Kylo’s fingers, in turn, spread over the expanse of his belly, occasionally stroking in response to the kicks of their daughter. Hux tilts his head back against the headboard and looks lazily above them both, staring at the flat-gray of the ceiling overhead. With the calming warmth of Kylo’s hand and the reassuring squirm of life inside him, he starts to sink back into his thoughts but, afraid of being towed under into his own insecurities once again, decides to distract himself with a question.

“Ren.”

Kylo grunts in response, breath ruffling over Hux’s slight cleavage, fascinated by the patter of tiny feet against his fingers. Hux slides his hand back into his hair, recovering the alpha’s attention.

“What were bonding ceremonies like on Chandrila?”

On Arkanis, they were chaste affairs. Private, like everything else, usually performed within the walls of the family home. The couples would prove their bondmarks to an officiant, speak a couple paragraphs by rote, and sign a document. Gifts were not unheard of but typically considered unnecessary. After a bonding, the omega would wear choker of dull metal over their neck, inscribed with a simple truism or family crest, to hide their mark until they fell pregnant and undesirable.

Kylo hums to himself, drawing a pattern in Hux’s belly that seems to have some meaning to him.

“I only attended a few myself, when I was very young. But I’ve read up on them.” Kylo speaks almost sleepily, as if caught in a trance of memory and dreams. “The families of the two bondmates would decide on a location for the ceremony together. Many were held at the shores of the lakes or the seas. The weather hardly ever turned violent, especially not in the springtime when the sage brushes blossomed. The omegas often wore pale colors but didn’t have to. Many liked to dress brighter, to express utmost joy at consecrating their bond. Both alpha and omega would read their own oaths to one another, bondmarks anointed with fragrant oils. Then celebration, flowing with food and drink, often well into the night.”

“And the symbols of your commitment?”

Kylo's smile softens at a secret thought.

“Rings, either around the fingers or the neck. Each set with a gem. Glow pearls dredged from caverns deep in the seas for omegas. Blood-red rubies or sun-stones for alphas.”

Hux had never owned a piece of jewelry in his life. He doubts he’s ever actually seen a real gemstone in person—that sort of thing was reserved for majestic kings and emperors of old, or gaudy warlords determined to show off their hardscrabble wealth, not industrious generals like himself. Then again, he’s softened recently. Perhaps he’d appreciate something to adorn himself with.  

“They sound lovely,” Hux murmurs. Around them, the ventilation finally shuts off, light breeze calming, dust settling back against the floor.

Stark silence. Then, Kylo raises his head. Hux tilts his chin down to his chest, their eyes meeting. Kylo gazes at him for a moment before leaning forward, kissing in a tender vow and whispering against Hux’s lips:

“Once I conquer Chandrila, bring it under our control, I’ll give you one to remember. A proper bonding ceremony. You and I, affirming our love in front of thousands of retainers. Our daughter in attendance.”

As Kylo pulls back Hux studies his face, searching for any sign that he’s lying to him, merely trying to dishonestly win him over, regain his favor. After all, bonding is something serious all on its own, even without a lavish ceremony to accompany it. But Kylo looks completely earnest, and as he takes Hux’s hand and laces their fingers together, it’s hard for him not to believe the promise. Especially when Kylo brings his knuckles to his lips and kisses right where a dusky, pearl-inset ring might look lovely.

Hux’s lips flicker in an intrigued smirk, that heretofore absent interest at the thought of being showered with riches and Kylo’s affection continuing to flourish inside of him.

“You take too many liberties with me, Supreme Leader,” Hux admonishes, albeit teasingly. “Now, I’m thinking you meant that as a _real_ proposal.”

He expects Kylo to play it off, but instead he closes his eyes, leaning in to rest their foreheads together.

“Maybe I did mean it.”

And at his words, at the confession, Hux can’t help himself. His heart flutters, like that of a giddy schoolboy. Inside him, his daughter wriggles, eager to join in the excitement.  

“Finally making an honest omega out of me, aren’t you?” He lights twists a lock of Kylo’s hair around his fore finger, then watches it unfurl. “I suppose it’s better late than never.”

“You know, general, that I’ve never been as much an adherent to the rules as you are. But maybe it’s time for me to make a change,” Kylo says, smiling carefully before opening his eyes. There’s fervent gold glinting in the vortices of his irises, speaking to the hundreds of storms he’s weathered, the thousand more he’d endure for the sake of those under his protection. Hux thinks about whether he’d like to wake up every morning to those eyes, and more—to kiss those soft pouting lips and stroke that untempered black hair before rising to feed their daughter, all the galaxy at the fingertips of their burgeoning family.

He might just find that acceptable.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise, we're going back to non-omegaverse stuff soon enough. Just gotta work through the last of these prompts. 
> 
> Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://thethespacecoyote.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heir_of_breath7/).


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